


Are You Safe at Home?

by S_L_Martin



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: First Time, M/M, Ruffling Finch's Feathers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-06
Updated: 2015-05-06
Packaged: 2018-03-29 08:41:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3889831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/S_L_Martin/pseuds/S_L_Martin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When you go to the ER with certain types of injuries, you are asked this confusing question.  John and Harold are both thrown, but in different directions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Are You Safe at Home?

**Author's Note:**

> This could be from any season. It's just John and Harold - no spoilers.
> 
> Also, this is my first POI story and my first time posting on AO3. Hi, everyone! Hope you like it!

“Are you safe at home?”

  


Harold stared at the ER doctor in the small glass cubicle where they had shuffled him away from John.  It was not a question he had expected to hear, and he couldn’t think what they meant by it or how to answer it.  The cover story had been that Harold had broken the collarbone in a fall.  They’d needed an x-ray to ensure that no surgery was necessary, and an ER visit had seemed safe enough given that this was no gunshot wound or other obvious red flag prompting further investigation.

  


John was lurking nervously just outside the cubicle, at turns scanning the doors and hallways of the area, then scowling toward the doctor who had taken Harold.  The doctor and nurse looked out at John and then exchanged a meaningful glance between themselves before returning their gaze to Harold and repeating the question.

  


Abruptly, Harold understood.

  


***

  


They finally brought Harold back out, frowning deeply at the obligatory wheelchair ride, after what seemed to John like a suspiciously long time.  He had begun to wonder if the ER could have possibly been tipped to look for them, or even infiltrated.

  


Harold looked up at him, seemed to note his concern, and waited until the orderly walked over to the valet before he explained, “It seems our cover story raised some red flags after all."  Harold looked ... regretful.

  


John felt his alert level rise way past orange, but Harold simply gave him a resigned half-smile and shook his head, waiting for them to be alone before he explained further.

  


***

  


Once John had navigated Harold gently into the car and fastened his seatbelt around him, (thankfully oblivious to the approving looks he got from the staff as he did so,) Harold filled him in.

  


"They merely wished to confirm that I was not a victim of domestic violence," Harold explained with a rueful laugh.

  


Harold watched in fascination as John's expression went from blank puzzlement, to dawning realization, to deep offense.

  


"I'm sorry, John ..." Harold began.

  


"Sorry for what?" John said, sagging back into his seat with a bleak scowl reminiscent of Harold's first months working with him, "You're not the one suggesting I look like I hurt the people I care about."

  


It was Harold's turn to be surprised.  Under the circumstances, this was not the element of the misunderstanding he would have expected John to react to.  "That's what's bothering you in this?  Not the suggestion that you're sleeping with the old guy you brought in?"  He gave a half grin, hoping that pointing to the humor of the situation might bring the same from John.

  


Alas, this attempt at cheer did not land, and John turned to him looking mildly injured. "You've known me long enough to know I'm not a homophobe, Harold."

  


"One needn't be a homophobe to be put off by the implication that one is sleeping with one's boss, John."

  


John went quiet for a while then, and unreadable.  Harold thought of all the ways he could have misspoken.  Was it right to refer to himself as John's employer, when John was clearly doing so much more than working at a job?  Or was it - John had slept with Kara Stanton, hadn't he?  Did John think Harold was implying that was improper, when he had only been clumsily trying to bring levity to John's dark moment? 

  


Harold had just resolved to drop the whole discussion before he dug himself any deeper, when John finally responded.

  


"And you?  Where's your sense of offense, Harold?"

  


John's voice had turned to a silky tease, catching Harold off guard with the shift.  Was John being deliberately dense or disingenuous?  Was he mocking Harold, or worse, chivalrously pretending not to see Harold's point?  The contrast between the two of them was obvious.  Harold was comfortable in his own skin, but he was perfectly aware that he was not tall, not young, no longer graceful, and certainly not "chiseled."  The idea that someone like John would be with someone like him was patently absurd.  It was the funniest part of the staff's awkward misapprehension, if only John would have had the good sense to join him in a chuckle.

  


Of course, Harold could find no way of saying any of that aloud without causing himself terrible embarrassment.  Each possible response that presented itself in his mind sounded horribly fawning or even coquettish.  "It would be an insult to you, and a compliment to me"?  Dear God, no.  "I should feel flattered by the assumption"?  Oh, for heaven's sake.  Or, how about, "It's not as if _I've_ never slept with a man"? Ha!  

  


Red began creeping up Harold's neck and face as more time passed without a response.  At the same time, John was looking more and more pleased with Harold's discomfort. When not answering eventually became as awkward as any of the possible answers, Harold choked out, "John, if you had any sense, you'd stop wondering if you're some kind of monster, and start wondering why people think you would be involved with someone like me when you are clearly so far out of my league."  Harold winced at his own statement and looked away from John.

  


They had arrived, finally, at their destination, and John was coming around to Harold's door to help him out of the car as they both processed what Harold had said.  As John reached over him to undo the seatbelt, he leaned in so that Harold felt the heat of his breath on his ear.  "We'll continue this conversation when your shoulder is better."  Harold failed to suppress a shiver as John pulled away, the heat of his body receding.  Looking up to meet John's eyes, Harold encountered a look he could only characterize as "wolfish."


End file.
